


Tired Young Dad's and Incredibly Force-Sensitive Insane Teenagers

by Big_Geek



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherly Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Running, Tired Dad Obi-Wan, Young Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 10:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Geek/pseuds/Big_Geek
Summary: In his scrawny arms, bundled in the thickest blanket he crèche had, laid the fruit of Palpatine’s eye. An infant born with a midi-chlorian count ever recorded; even higher than Grandmaster Yoda’s.Anakin Skywalker.[Or, Palpatine isn't fooling one, tiny Padawan; and the Padawan takes the "Chosen One" and fucking books it.]
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 59
Kudos: 609





	1. Prologue

Racing through the underground levels of Coruscant, under a sodden cloak and a heavy heart, Obi-Wan Kenobi deflects. Just a mere shadow as he bounces through alley to alley, shopfront to shopfront, avoiding Coruscanti as if they had fallen ill with a ravaging pathogen from the Unknown Regions and he was a target. Luckily for him, the citizens pay no mind to the obvious infliction of an outsider around these parts. 

Scratch out that last notion, as Obi-Wan slips on an inconvenient puddle, yelps and spectacularly crashes into the interior wall of a decrepit alley – shoulder first. The duffle sways harshly into his hip and the bundle of blankets in his arms snuffles, and dread fills his aching limbs. He pauses in anxious anticipation. 

…

Silence. 

He heaves a sigh of relief. On unsteady legs, he moves forward into the mouth of the alley – passing a very drunk and very unconscious man slumped against the filthy walls – and out into the neon brightness of the main street. 

Keeping his eyes to shoes and tightened a coat of the Force around his presence. Creating a figure virtually imperceptible to anyone without them actively searching for someone or something. 

Inconspicuously, he tacks onto a group of young boys his age as they pass his particular alleyway; a group too rambunctious about a new holoaction movie to notice his presence. 

A few passing adults glared as they passed. Mainly because the group was too loud rather than the fact Obi-Wan kept readjusting the hood around his head; only one adult gave him a pointed stare and Obi-wan ducked down sheepishly. He split off from the group onto the next block over after that. 

Reshuffling the blankets in his arms and the duffle on his aching shoulder, he continued to walk another three blocks; ignoring the rumbling of his stomach as his nose longed the delicious aroma’s that wafted throughout a street that specialised in local cuisine. He was too nauseous to eat supper at the Temple; a decision he ultimately regrets now. 

The Force tugged for his attention, and Obi-Wan abruptly stopped before passing a street crossing – forcing a woman to quickly swerve out of the way before she knocked them both down, cursing at him as she brushed his shoulder in a non-too pleasant way. It pulled at him. Aching for the young Padawan’s attention, like a child dragging their parents into toy stores; and Obi-Wan followed. 

He may have left his entire life behind, but he hasn’t given up in the Force. 

Trailing behind its insistent pull, he shadowed it over several blocks. Passing establishments that were most likely highly illegal clubs and spice dens. Moving as fast as he can before those in this sector of the underground level could get a good look at his face. He may be young, he may be naïve, but he knows those desperate for a living will sell him for the bounty that will inevitably hover above his head. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the tugging ceased. Leaving him stranded. 

Typical, he cursed. Agitation simmered under his skin and deep in his stomach, he marched onwards. For a moment, he had hope. Hope that the Force approved of what he was doing. Approved of his morals. Leaving him on a wild chase, leaving the impression that it was leading him down a much-desired shortcut to reach a flight off the planet that he was already late for. 

Rounding the corner, he is met with the blinding lights of the flight port. 

_ “Oh” _ , he breathes. Maybe the Force may not have completely abandoned him after all.

The face of the building looked better days. Dilapidated, long since overdue for a remodel. The sign half-lit and unnecessarily bright in comparison to its sector neighbours. Yet, a line-up of diverse species of men, women and children line out the door and across the decrepit front wall. He made it. 

Shuffling discreetly behind a burly Lasat, he readjusts the fabric around the babe and tucks him in closer to his body warmth, fixing up the lengths of his cloak to hide the precious cargo a little bit more – the babe emitting another snuffle as he did so. Obi-Wan caressed the impossibly light locks on the infant’s head in response. Something heavy drops in his stomach. 

Everything he ever will be and ever was will no longer be in his grasp. His friends. His Master. To become a fugitive of the Jedi Order and subsequently, the Republic. In this night – dark, cold, damp as it is – he will also become an enemy of the dark. 

In his scrawny arms, bundled in the thickest blanket he crèche had, laid the fruit of Palpatine’s eye. An infant born with a midi-chlorian count ever recorded; higher than Grandmaster Yoda’s. 

Anakin Skywalker. 

The moment he was brought into the galaxy, the entirety of the Jedi Order felt the bursting supernova that was he. A child born to a slave woman in the dry desert plagued by twin suns of Tatooine. Every Master, Knight, Padawan and Crèche member felt the light. Obi-Wan reminisced the harmony that sung through his bones and bubbling of the force in his blood. It was contentment he never felt before. 

If the Jedi Order could feel it, undoubtedly Palpatine knew too. Obi-Wan found out the true nature of the Nabooian senator completely by accident. Never intended to know in the first place – the man shields are exceptional. Yet, an overheard discussion between Senator Palpatine and Master Dooku twisted his worldview in ways one can only imagine. 

Plus, the Jedi Order doubts the claims of a pubescent child. 

A shove to his back broke him away from his thoughts of turmoil – as a result, he noticed the line had moved upwards towards the doors. A Rodian at his back scoffed at his lack of awareness and it took every ounce of will power and Jedi training to taking that simmering of agitation and breathe it out into the Force. 

He can’t lose focus now. He is so close. Yet, so far. As he remained still and silent, time became to dissolve; just as shapeless as the rain that laid the level in a wet fog hours before. The babe, miraculously, still asleep in his arms and strain of this entire endeavour weighting onto his small form. 

Sub-consciously, he moved forward, step by step when it was called for. Before long, he passed the doors and into a room just a neglected as the outside; unrepaired sitting benches and mouldy ceilings, with few overhanging lights that looked to be on their last legs. It looked more akin to the spice dens he passed on the way here than a Space Port. 

The view of the flight tunnel was obscured by the form of transportation. Through large windows, a decently functioning ship docked to its terminal ready to take on passengers. Its crew spread throughout the Port; packaging supplies, pre-flight checks and ticket checking. Despite the cheap price of a ticket, the team seem to put some care into ensuring everything is in working order before taking flight yet again. 

Before the terminal, Obi-Wan spies a green Twi-lek. From the spacer jacket, and blaster on his belt, it was clear this man was a crew member; evidently disgruntled at the role he has been taken to tonight by the waves of spite the man gives off from every name he types into the datapad in his hands.

Behind him, a human woman brandished a blaster; a visual description that despite the care they take in maintaining a working order of their ship, they were still an unregistered flight centre. She too, wore the tell-tales of a spacer, characteristic snarl on her blemished face and dark hair cropped short. A detail that had Obi-Wan finger the prickling stump of what was his Padawan braid. 

Abruptly, the Force wavered. Adrenaline grasped his heart into a near squeeze, pulling his hand away from his chopped hair and hovering over his lightsabre at his waist – disguised by his cloak. It felt like an ear-bleeding whine in his ears: like the whining a blaster makes as it reloads and itching for a release. 

Tucking the babe closer into his tensed body, he waited. 

All the worst possible scenarios running through his mind. He eyed the entryway of the Port, half expecting a group of Jedi to storm through the doors, lightsabres ablaze. Or worst, Darth Sidious makes his Coruscant debut in murdering a former Padawan on the run and taking the prophesized “Chosen One” from said Padawan’s cold, limp arms. 

A quick look in the bond he shared with his Master radiated calm and peacefulness – still asleep. The Jedi were still unaware, and that left the worst possible possibility. Obi-Wan waited, tense and uneasy. As the moment drew on and nothing happened. It was making him feel nauseous and he fought against the urge to run. Then, Anakin whimpered. 

Dread freezes him down to his core. It creeps over him in an icy chill. Growing colder by every fussy kick he receives by the bundle in his arms. 

“No”, Obi-Wan whispers repeatedly, “no, no, no”. 

Dread is quickly overcome by complete and unbridled panic. Shifting the duffle higher, he releases Anakin from his fluffy confines. Yet, the babe continues to whimper. Obi-Wan wracks his brain from an answer: _What did the Crèche Masters do?_

He never visited many Crèche’s other than his experience as a younger youngling. His Master did say he was going to start putting him of Crèche duty, despite his disgruntlement at the prospect. Typically, he would avoid them like the plague. Yet, here he is, going off to take care of a baby. He should have read a flimsy of toddler care back at the Temple, but he figured it would tip someone off. But, he did watch a few Holodrama’s with his fellow crèchemates (to the Masters' complete displeasure). 

Obi-Wan begins bouncing him against the crook of his shoulder. 

The Force around Anakin still wavers - and if possible – more. 

“Oi!”, Obi-Wan flinches and he is met with a scornful snarl and displeased Twi-lek. The Lasat that was in front had already boarded the ship, he had been too busy to figure out a puzzle in the form of an infant to notice. Something’s telling him that that wasn’t the first time he was called on. “Name”. 

He stutters, and almost ( _almost_ ) blurts out his own name. 

“Izac and Nikola Morix”. 

The Twi’lek types it into the Datapad, but Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the apprehensive look he gives Anakin as he continues to pick up a fuss. “He’s my brother”, Obi-Wan quickly amends, “Our mother is dead. We are leaving to live with family”. 

The Spacer huffs, “I don’t care, but you better get that thing under control during flight. I don’t want me or my colleagues here to chuck him out of the airlock.”. The woman over his shoulder chuckles, smiling in a way that shows full canines. 

“Of course”. 

The Datapad in the Spacer’s hand chimes, “You’re good. You can go through”. Obi-Wan nods in appreciation and shuffles onto the ship with legs that are slowly turning into jelly the closer he gets. The Force around him continues to waver – Anakin is growing more and more frustrated, small whines emitting from the crook of his shoulder. 

He enters the cabin and instantly, he could feel the trepidation palpable in the air, as fellow passengers observed him, particularly on the infant in his arms, it practically permeated over his skin. Eyes followed him as he searched for an empty booth that lined the walls. The feeling of dread and anticipation saturating the Force – it was drowning in it. 

The hollow clanging of the metal flooring against his feet rattled in the silence. There were no windows and the cushioning of the booths were no silk coverings. It was itchy and rigid. Something he would have to grow accustomed to over this thirty-two-hour flight into the Outer Rim. 

The wavering Force yanked at him. Instantaneously, Anakin twisted in his arms and howled. 

The trepidation morphed into unrelenting hate. 

* * *

It was a process of trial and error, Obi-Wan decided. A process of figuring out if he was hungry, lonely, or god forbid, wet. Caressing the babe’s blonde locks as he lays upon his legs, soothed to back sleep by the humming of the spacecraft in hyperspace. 

The scattering of a panic-induced bottle making littering bench of the booth in which he sat; a half-empty bottle, formula pack he stole from the crèche and a spit-up towel (the towel was a last-minute decision, why would the crèche need so many of them if it wasn’t important; he had never been so glad to be right). 

The smooth rattling lured him into an uneasy sleep, pulled in by the aching of his body and the emotional exhaustion, but his mind grows tauter and thinner by ever parsec. As much as it pains him, he’s going to have to cut the bond before his Master notices he’s; a) not in bed, nor on planet, and b) has taken the “Chosen One” with him. Obi-Wan is currently avoiding all thoughts of future consequences at this time. 

With one more stroke of Anakin’s fine hairs, he leans back against the desolate wall. The chill metal easing his heated skin. Yet, the anxious spinning of his stomach makes him want to do the little things that are unbecoming of a Jedi; like fidget or cry. But, for this thing to work, he needs to cut every little tie that leads Palpatine to Anakin’s. 

To think the older man could be whispering in little Anakin’s ear for his entire childhood, it makes him want to shudder. There was no telling what could happen – What Anakin could become. 

Obi-Wan takes a moment to breathe. Slow and steady. Letting go. The soft chattering of passengers vanishes and then so does the rumbling of the ship. Then, he sinks deeper. The pain, the aches, the emotional turmoil fades into the Force. He is nothing. He is sinking, and he is floating. 

In a space of total light, he sees it. A bond. A training bond, to be precise. Bright and strong. Thick and powerful. A bond that was supposed to be broken when he was to be Knighted, but clearly, that was never going to happen now. With a soothing caress, he is connected to the other end, albeit briefly. It was just as it was before; peaceful and flat. Still asleep. A calm before the storm, Obi-Wan can only imagine. 

Resolutely, he grasps the bond with his two, trembling hands. Fingers curled around like he was clutching a rope. It pulsed under his palms – brimming with power and pacifying energy. If his inner conscious could sweat, he would be drowning in it. _I have to_ , he whispers against his doubts, _I have to do this_. 

He has to cute every tie, every lead, every perspective. Especially, if it means survival. Yet, his imaginative, youthful mind goes against this wishes of mental serenity. The throbbing thought of ‘What’s going to happen?’, makes his grip grow slack.

Will it hurt? Will the bond stay strong in his inexperienced hands, or worst alert his Master of his endeavours, making this all in vain? Will he die?

(The last one was an exaggeration. But, one can never be sure throughout the rumours that circle the crèches). 

Anxiety bubbled under his skin. It was hot, it was nauseating, he could hear the thumping of his pounding heart. Most of all, he wanted to run and hide forever, like the child he was. The tightness of his chest made his breathing stutter; forcing the air through his nose and out his mouth, it eased until he could think stable thoughts again.

The bond pulsed and determination settled through his bones. 

It was just like ripping off a bactapatch. 

With a sharp twist of his wrists and a crack, the bond fell slack in his hands. He felt the delirious confusion from the other end before it fell away. The bond ceased to pulse; too eerily like the life within a sentient being – a passing thought Obi-Wan couldn’t shake. The limp, dead bond wavered in the Force before it completely dissolved – its fragments floating through his hair and into his eyes as it scattered into the Force. 

This was it. He couldn’t turn back now. 


	2. Fourteen Years Later

The atmosphere was thick. It made it harder to breathe. Though, it probably didn’t help with the bubbling rage he’s keeping a lid on, barely. Blood seeped through the rag and left his fingers sticky; said rag, once pristinely ivory and smelt of pretentious flower arrangements into one of that wafted an iron taste into every olfactory receptor of all sentiments within this very speeder.

He spied his older brother’s grip on the wheel grow tighter, so much so, the material squealed. Though a very calm and collected individual, he could feel his brother reaching breaking point. Determined by the unbreaking glare through the windshield and the unbreakable stiffness of his shoulders.

All shit is going to break lose the moment the very doors shut on their quaint apartment. Fan-fucking-tastic.

On more left, another left, right and a very sharp left – that one almost had him knock himself out against the window. Their apartment block came into view.

It was a very big complex, nor was it a very small one. It was one of simplicity. A train station close by so he could reach his school campus and small businesses line the bottom. Even his favourite diner; Dexter’s. That was also his brother’s favourite, said it reminded him of another diner from when he was younger.

Not that he knew where that diner was, his brother was always tight-lipped on his past, but he always spoke of their father in a wistful way – however little that information came to be.

Once the speeder was parked within the complex’s car deck, he jumped out, powerwalking to the elevator. He could feel his brother’s presence close behind. The turbolift up was a nightmare.

So was the silent walk from said turbolift and to their apartment door.

Once the homey darkness of the living room greeted them, he marched to his bedroom. He marched like his life depended on it (which, at this point, kinda did). Alas, he was too slow. The wound to his face partially blinding him and his brother fierce, parental emotion spilling forth like a spilt cup of blue milk, emitting into the entire apartment in a thick, hot rush of air. It made him pause slightly in surprise.

The front door slid shut, “Where do you think you’re going?”, his brother said. His voice radiating a calm and collected tone, in despite to his body language and the glare in his eyes that could burst into flames.

He kept his back to him. “My room.”

“I hardly think that is an appropriate thing to do. Especially from what just occurred.”

“I do.”

His brother grumbled. Despite not looking at him, he could feel him rubbing the bridge of his nose in a familiar tic of frustration (…or anger…or exasperation…or both). Huh, maybe his brother was right, he was the cause of many premature grey hairs.

“Anakin,” his brother marched towards him, and spun him around, “I just bailed you out of jail”. Up-close, he can see the true mess of auburn hair that was usually combed to perfection in disarray, and the inky under-eye circles that seemed darker than they typically were. Particularly due to fact of his new late-night escapades his brother didn’t think he noticed.

Anakin stubbornly refused to look at him the eye. His point of focus just over his brother’s shoulder. Was that a new flower vase?

Though, that seemed to tick his brother off more, and something simmering and hot spilt off. “Out of the absolutely stupid and reckless things you have done; this one tops the list. I can handle you going to pod races and late night droid building meetings, because _I_ can handle it myself. But, getting yourself arrested. You’re lucky I was at home getting that call. If you were charged- if something worse happened- if-“. His brother paused, in favour of rubbing his eyes. Like he was in the hope that rubbing his eyes could scrub the mess of feelings he felt.

Something heavy dropped into Anakin’s stomach.

“What was I supposed to do? Let the guy get stabbed?”

“No, Anakin. It’s just…”

His brother dropped to his level, and hand combed through his blonde, shaggy locks; the same locks of hair his brother jokingly wants to him cut. Reassurance, comfort and safety replaced the parental anger. It reminded him of those late, stormy nights when Obi-wan would lay in his bed and hold him because the thunder was too loud and scary; or the when he won that robotics award and his brother expressed how proud he was of him (and the Dexter’s Diner treat afterwards).

Obi-wan’s hand moved to rest on his cheek. Soft and at the same time calloused (from all those odd jobs he took to keep them off the streets). Anakin’s eyes welled with tears, unwillingly.

“I love you. You know that. I would kill me to see you get hurt, unimaginably so.”

Voice raspy, he leaned further into the touch, “I know. I’m sorry”.

Obi-wan leaned in, and kissed his forehead, and Anakin’s heart swelled.

“Now,“ his brother stood tall, “let go fix up that eye”.

Anakin smiled, “Hopefully I get a wizard scar”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a tiny drabble, but I finally just had the motivation to write. I know it's been awhile and I simply have no excuse, so I hope this 900word drabble in enough to quench your thirst for just a little while. 
> 
> In addition, I hope you guys had a lovely Christmas despite this absolute clusterfuck of a year. xoxo
> 
> P.s. remember when I said I've slowly gotten over my social anxiety? Throw that out the fucking window, ended getting onto medication by the end of the year and tried to not actually kill myself. Which kinda partial to not having the motivation to write...or get out of bed...or do anything. 
> 
> Anyways, love ya. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you want me to expand this (I already have the beginnings of a draft on another document ready to be finalised and rewritten). 
> 
> And, I've gotten over a majority of the social anxiety that I feel comfortable enough to start writing and posting stuff again - the last time I wrote and posted anything was two years ago, so if I miss something and you catch onto it, let me know so I can rectify it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3.


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